


Passenger

by Aristocraticbloodlust



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: F/M, Mention of blood, Minor Character Death, Resident Evil 5, Wesker being the sexy deceiving worm he is, nothing new, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:35:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21577675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aristocraticbloodlust/pseuds/Aristocraticbloodlust
Summary: She trusted the devil, but he was all smoke and mirrors. Oh, naive little bitch, where did her pretentious smile go?
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Excella Gionne
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Passenger

**Author's Note:**

> Once again felt a baby burst of inspiration, and wanted to rewrite something I wrote months ago that (has since been deleted) was dog shit. This is dog shit too, but like some slightly better, B+ grade dog shit.
> 
> Also, excuse any errors. Too lazy to fix em, but might later.

Her perfume stank up his nose, it smelt of hookers and roses.

She was soft, a place to lay his hardened head, and smear the brittle skin of his cheek on her leg in an attempt to be her angel.  
To bleed into her trust, let her know that he “loves” her.

Maybe not love, of course.

They shared a common vision, a common goal. 

They had also shared sweat and saliva, and the heat radiating off their bodies during cold nights and sweltering days alike.

He burrowed deeper into her core.

She sobbed, and he told her its something you get used to. She craves his attention, and he over stimulates her with ease. She gives him all her assets, in return for his body.  
She wants him to live inside her, become one. He promises they’d change the world, and they can do just that.

They continue the cycle, and she believes.

Soon, their dance became vigorous, and all she wanted was to be spun and teased. He became a God, and she was his follower. She prayed to his body, while he sang and sank into her neck because he loved the way he could hear the blood pulsing through there.

Pulsing, rushing, living, writhing.  
He’d have her gag on it, he’d imagined.

But as the truth unfolds, it hadn’t happened that way.

No, the woman didn’t meet her end with restricted air flows of liquid red iron. He never pulled out her jugular with his teeth like he’d saw in his head, she didn’t struggled to force him off instead.

She let him do it. She let him guide her by the hand, where he sat down, a seat for her on his lap. Told her that he loved her, that they belonged together.

Stroked her thigh with a needle, let it slip into her.


End file.
